Welcome to Life
by PrincessVenture
Summary: Modern AU. Rapunzel is a freshman at Walt Disney University, where she's planning (forced) to study premed. Whether she's adventuring with her new gal pals, or entertaining a budding romance with the cutest guy on her floor, or dealing with emotional scars from her childhood, one thing is certain: This will be a year she never forgets. Thumbnail by yours truly. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to Life**

**~Chapter 1~**

The late August sun beats down mercilessly, despite the clock reading only a quarter after ten as Mother parks the station wagon against the curb. Outside, I see a mountain of suitcases and cardboard boxes and parents hugging their kids goodbye. Move-In volunteers in fluorescent T-shirts scurry around like worker ants, hauling luggage into the building as the pile continues to grow, spreading along the sidewalk like an advanced-stage tumor.

One of the volunteers notices us and comes over with a clipboard. "Your name?" I hear him ask through the glass.

From her seat next to me, Mother raises her eyebrows at me. I immediately roll down my window, gasping as the muggy air hits my throat. Wow, it is _hot_ outside. "Rapunzel Gothel," I manage to choke out. "G-O-T-H-E-L. Room six-thirteen B?"

"Gotcha. Open up your trunk so we can unload your stuff. All of your luggage is labeled with your name and room number, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Rapunzel, you come out and join the other freshmen over there. One of us will take you guys in groups to get your keys and orientation packet in a bit. Ma'am? The trunk?"

Mother pulls the trunk release lever and calls after me, "I'll see you later! Keep your phone on!" as I climb out.

A small group of freshman is standing on the steps outside the dorm, next to a hand-painted sign that reads "WELCOME, VALLEY TOWER RESIDENTS." Actually, "group" isn't really the right word. Everyone's just standing there awkwardly and not looking at each other. A few of them glance up curiously as they hear me approach, but they look back down at the screens of their smartphones when they realize it's just another awkward freshie come to join them. So I pick a spot in the shade where I'm not too close to them that I'll have to say hi and apologize for invading their personal space but not too far away that whoever's coming to collect us will ignore me.

I can see the volunteers unloading my belongings from the back of Mother's station wagon. Mother's there, too, yelling at them to be careful with this one, to hold that one upright because can't they see it's marked FRAGILE? Blah, blah, blah. She catches my eye and mouths something, pointing at the other kids. I shuffle a little closer to the group and look back at her for confirmation.

She shakes her head, but before she can make her message clear, a volunteer with auburn braids approaches our group, introducing herself as Jessie, and hands us nametags and markers. Once we're done sticking them on, she tells us to follow her, and our group starts to make its way down the sidewalk.

Mother intercepts me as we pass the unloading dock. "Go up to the front and follow that guide closely," she whispers. "Ask lots of questions and be sure to make a good impression."

"Mother, she's not a tour guide. Besides—"

"_Rapunzel_." The grip on my arm tightens, and I try to shake off the image of claw-like fingernails breaking my skin.

I sigh. "Yes, Mother." The sooner I give Mother what she wants, the sooner I can get away.

"Good." The kiss on my forehead feels like a peck. From an angry hen. "We'll talk later."

* * *

The door to suite 613 is open, with the names "Rapunzel," "Ariel," and "Mulan" printed in curly script on name tags shaped like princess-y crowns.

Ha-ha, I get it! Because we're in the Valley Tower, so we're like princesses in a tower! Cute. Though, I wonder what kind of name tags the guys' rooms get…

I step into the suite kitchen, noting that there are three doors beyond: two bedrooms and a small bathroom. A slim girl with flaming red hair emerges from the nearer bedroom door and stops short when she notices me.

"Hi!" she exclaims. "You must be Rapunzel!"

I accept the hand she extends to me. The email that the housing office sent me earlier this month said I would be sharing a double with a Mulan Hua, and my suitemate would be an Ariel Triton. This must be Ariel. "Nice to meet you, Ariel," I say, hoping I don't say something stupid and have to avoid her for the rest of my life.

Ariel doesn't seem to notice my incompetence. Instead, she smiles easily and points to the other bedroom door. "That's your room. Your mom's already here."

"Thanks." I find myself approaching the doorway apprehensively, but I relax as I hear more voices from inside, speaking what must be Chinese because I can't understand a word. Mulan's family must be inside, too. I knock on the doorframe before walking in, just in case I'm intruding on a private family moment. (I did that once, back when I volunteered at the Corona Woods Nursing Home. Walked right in on a family saying goodbye to the grandma they were losing to cancer. It didn't end well.)

"Hi!" Mulan greets me just as cheerfully as Ariel did. She's about Ariel's height, with a slightly more boyish build. "Rapunzel, right?"

I shake her hand, as well as those of her family, whom she introduces to me as her mother, father, and grandmother. My own mother is sitting at my desk chair, looking a bit out of place among these warm and cheerful people, but she comes over to give me a hug once the introductions are over. Mulan and her family politely back out the room, mumbling something about exploring the campus, to give us space.

"You sure took your time," Mother remarks dryly, abruptly releasing me as soon as they're gone. "How'd it go?"

I shrug. "We got our keys and ID cards. Oh, and I grabbed an extra copy of the orientation program schedule for you." I figure she'll probably want to drag me out to see all those open houses and panels about study abroad and How to Suck up to Your Professors.

To my surprise, Mother waves it away. "No, I don't need it. I need to get home before six so I can get enough rest to work tomorrow. Getting up at four in the morning and then driving twelve hours in one day is hard, you know. Well, a college education is a college education, and we parents have to do what parents have to do. Is there anything else you need, Rapunzel?"

I can't think of anything off the top of my head. Practically everything I own is here in the boxes I brought with me. "No, I think that's everything."

"Are you sure? You've never been away from home for more than a few hours," Mother frets. "Will you be all right? You know to separate the light colors from the darks, right? And don't be out after dark unless you're in a really well-lit place where there are lots of people. Epcot City isn't safe like Corona, you know. You'll have to stay inside this dorm whenever you're not in class."

"_Mother_. I _know_. I'll be careful. I'm going to be okay."

"Are you sure you don't want me to get an apartment nearby? You won't get too lonely?"

"_No_, Mother. I'm going to be fine. You can trust me to make the right decisions you raised me to make." I smile up at her reassuringly, but she has a point. I've never been away from home this long before. Come to think of it, since I've homeschooled all my life, I've never even been away from home overnight before. Every time we need anything, Mother's the one who goes into town to get it. But this must be hard for her, being a single mom and losing her only child to adulthood…

Well, pseudo-adulthood anyway, since I won't be turning eighteen for over a month.

Mother still doesn't look convinced that I'm going to last a week on my own, but I'm not about to allow my one chance at independence and freedom to be snatched away now. Especially not after _she_ was the one who wanted me to—

_No_, I tell myself firmly. _Don't start a fight now. She was nice enough to let you bring art supplies with you. And pay for them with her own money. And don't forget the new laptop and smartphone. And all your textbooks. And that tuition…_

Mother looks like she's about to argue, but all she finally says is, "Well, if you're sure, then." She hugs me tightly. When she speaks again, her voice sounds thin, like she's holding back a torrent. "But I want you to call me every day and Skype every weekend. And if I don't get a response to an email within 24 hours, campus security will be notified!"

As she walks out the door, I fight the sudden urge to rush over and beg her to stay, to get an apartment here in Epcot City, to move into my closet, to not leave me along in this strange place where I know nobody, to take me home with her, to let me take a gap year and start college later…

_But you wanted this. You wanted a chance to live on your own and be your own person. _You_ chose Walt Disney University because it's farther from home than Corona U. Besides, she'll just nag and pressure you all the time, like she's done for the past eighteen years. You don't need that anymore._

But as I press my nose to my window and watch Mother's familiar station wagon drive out of sight, I don't remember ever wishing harder that I was a better liar.

* * *

"Hey, Rapunzel?" Ariel is standing in my doorway. "My dad and I are going to Target to get some last-minute supplies. Is there anything you need?"

I shake my head. "No thanks. I think I'm good."

"All right, then. See you later!"

I take a look around my new room. It's actually pretty roomy, with the way they tried to conserve floor space by lofting the bed and shoving the wardrobe and desk under it and piling a stack of drawers in the corner. On the other end of the room, Mulan's furniture is in a similar setup. Her green-and-white bedspread that her family has laid out for her contrasts sharply with the crinkly white plastic mattress cover on my otherwise bare bed. It doesn't look particularly comfortable, either. I find myself missing our cozy little cottage in the hills of Corona Woods and the comfy canopy bed I've had my whole life more than ever.

Then I tell myself to stop being ridiculous. Mother's on her way home now, and if I don't stop pining to go home, I'm going to flunk out of college and waste all the hard work we put into getting me into university. Not to mention the ridiculously high tuition and my scholarship. Besides, I've brought all my bedding with me. With a little work, I can make this bed and this room (well, my side of it) look just like my room at home. Might as well start unpacking...

I'm transferring my dresses to the wardrobe and trying to figure out how to organize the rest of my clothes into the drawers when I hear a knock on the suite door outside.

It's a tall blonde guy who looks several years older than all the freshmen I've seen so far.

"Hi, I'm Max. I'm going to be your RA this year."

"Er…hi. I'm Rapunzel." Blushing, I shift the pile of underwear in my arms so I can shake his hand. _Awkward_…

"Everything going well so far? Have Ariel and Mulan arrived?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He hands me a packet of papers. "This is the checklist for the condition of the things in your room. We need you guys to take a look at your furniture and the walls—you know, make sure nothing's broken so you don't get charged at the end of the year for a gaping hole in the wall that you're not liable for. Check the bathroom, too. If a window is missing an insect screen, or if the furnace or anything in the bathroom is broken, we need you to let us know so we can file a maintenance report."

"Okay."

"When you're done, you can give it to me in room 604. Or you can hand it in to Tiana. She's the RA for the east half of our floor, in room 621. Oh, and don't forget we have a floor meeting tonight at eight. We'll be meeting in the common area with the couches just outside the elevators."

"Okay."

Once Max is gone, I skim the packet. Name…room number…student ID…email…phone…and a list of each item of furniture the school provides us in our rooms. I turn to the next page and find an identical form. Oh, there must be one for each of us. Okay…

So I take out the staples in the packet and leave a sheet on each of Ariel's and Mulan's desks. Then I set about filling mine, but I only get as far as the basic information before the checklist of furniture conditions makes me frown.

Next to each piece of furniture's name, there are boxes for "excellent," "good," "fair," "poor," and "needs replacing." With the exception of "needs replacing," every other option is just so…subjective. I mean, for someone who's lived in the same house, looking at the same furniture practically her whole life, I've never found a reason to think the kitchen table we've used for eighteen years is in any condition but "It works; ergo, it's fine."

I suppose that's why I've never really liked any class subject other than math and the sciences. There's always one and only one right answer, none of that "gray area" or "come up with examples of your own to support your argument" stuff. I remember studying for the SATs and how the reading comprehension section was my biggest foe because, theoretically, only one answer is the right one, but if you stare at them long enough, you could weasel out a supporting argument for each of the answer choices. And then you'll be forced to choose the "best" answer, but "best" is really subjective, so then you're back to square one.

After filling out the checkboxes as best I can and hoping I didn't miss a giant dent in the wall or a paint-chipping scratch down the side of the wardrobe or something, I grab my new keys (wouldn't do to get locked out on my first day of college) and set out to explore the floor and find Max.

The floor is really just a bunch of rooms on either side of a hallway that runs from one end of the building to the other and then extends around a corner on each side, giving the building a horseshoe-like shape. The elevators and stairwell are in the middle of the hall, where the hallway widens to provide enough room for three sofas, two armchairs, and a large flat-screen TV set. This must be the "common area" Max was referring to. The window here provides a really nice view of the street outside and the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.

From my perch on the windowsill, I can see that the street below is a one-way that runs south to north, past our dorm and then past the main gate of the university. I think the map the school provided me calls it "Roy Street," supposedly in honor of the brother of the university's first president, Walt. From way up here, the cars look like beetles. Shiny, brightly-colored beetles that move in three single-file lines down the three lanes of Roy Street. On the sidewalks below me, I can see teeny tiny people hurrying in and out of the buildings, brushing past each other like the others don't exist, as they scurry off to wherever they have to be. Ah, these must be the "yuppies" Mother warned me about. Too caught up in their professional lives and social ladders and material possessions to actually _live_ anymore.

Further north, some of them are gathering in a throng at the edge of the sidewalk. I'm wondering what could be so interesting that these people would pause in their rat race to take a look, when I notice that the cars in the street have stopped. At once, the crowd of pedestrians pours onto the street and crosses to the other side, only to disperse as they continue with their daily routines. Then I notice the red, yellow, and green traffic lights hanging above the street where the people just crossed. Oh. They were only waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street. Well, I guess that makes sense, since there are more people in a city than in the countryside, so traffic lights in a city are designed to let pedestrians cross without getting hurt.

A few seconds later, the light changes to green, and the cars continue to file down the street, as more pedestrians gather at the crosswalk and wait for the light.

There's another building straight across the street from our dorm. It's about the same height as Valley Tower, but it doesn't look like another residence hall for poor, broke college students, with its fancy marble façade, and the fountain with the bronze statues out front, and the pink cobblestone driveway and sleek limousines… I squint at the sign engraved on the fountain. "Palace Suites Hotel." So it's a hotel for rich folks.

For some reason, this doesn't feel right. Why would there be a huge fancy-looking hotel, complete with limos and fountains, this close to the university and its dilapidated dormitories overrun with vines and rusty fire escapes? In fact, the hotel looks kind of out of place juxtaposed with just about every other building on this street—drycleaners, Subway, Kinko's, a bakery, a bar and grill… And why are there so many yuppies running around in this part of the city instead of downtown where all the office buildings are? And where are the muggers and the police cruisers careening down alleyways, sirens blaring, red lights ablaze?

Or maybe I'm just a sheltered country girl—no, forest girl—who's basing her expectations of a city on stereotypes. I mean, I've never actually been to Corona City before, despite living within an hour's drive away for eighteen years. Who am I to say what a city's supposed to be like?

A movement from across the street catches my eye. Someone's watching me from one of the windows in the hotel. It's kind of far away, and the glass is slightly tinted, but I can see it's a girl with long black hair. She jumps down from the sill when she realizes that she's been spotted. I see her move to draw the curtain across the window, but she hesitates and gives me a small wave. Then she's gone, and I'm left staring at…is that a _velvet_ curtain?

I've never seen so much luxury in one place before. I wonder what my life would be like if I had that kind of money, so much that I could afford to stay in a marble palace of a hotel, with a private fountain and gilded statues and velvet drapery… Somehow, I don't think I'd like it. In fact, the city's starting to make me uncomfortable, with all the buildings that jut out with their unnatural-looking corners and the never-ending alternation of movement between cars and pedestrians.

My thoughts turn to my sketchbook. It's been a while since I've added anything to it, mostly because I've been busy applying to college and taking tests but also because I was starting to get tired of drawing the same old subject matter—trees, deer, and little cottages. But now that I have a complete change of scenery, it might just be time to crack the sketchbook out again.

But there will be plenty of time to think about my art later. Right now, I have to deliver my checklist to Max, so I resume my exploration of the floor.

* * *

My bedspread doesn't look straight. It looks all lumpy and weird because I didn't pull it tight enough. The sheets don't look at that great, either. The end closer to me is too long, which means that I'm going to have to pull it all out and start over again. For the fifth time.

With a groan, I climb back up the ladder and haul the comforter off. I try to drop it onto my desk chair, but it slides off the pillows I've stacked there and flops onto the floor. I really hope whoever lived in this room last year vacuumed before leaving…

Now where was I? Oh, right. The sheets.

Making my bed has proved to be one of the most difficult things I've done since arriving on campus so far. My bed is lofted, with a protective fence on one side and the wall on the other. Which is a good thing, because even though I don't have acrophobia, I'm not exactly thrilled to be sleeping about six feet in the air for the next nine months, so it's nice to have safeguards in place. And I'm not complaining about the extra floor space I'm getting.

The problem, however, comes when I'm trying to make the bed. See, the fence may keep me from rolling off in my sleep and breaking my neck, but it also blocks me from trying to tug the sheets around from the safety of the floor. Besides, I'm vertically challenged, so I can't even reach the sheets to pull them around unless I'm on the ladder or on the bed itself. And since the fence is where it is, I can't move the ladder to a more convenient place, so I _have_ to do everything while on the bed itself. Which means I'm stuck with tugging on a stubborn sheet that won't move because I kind of have nowhere to sit except _on_ the sheet itself.

Ugh, why is this so _difficult_? And now my braid's come loose, and it's sticking to my neck because of all the sweat, and OHMIGOSH _why is it so hot in here?_

Giving the comforter one last tug, I run a hand over it in a futile attempt to smooth out the wrinkles and bulges. Then I climb down my ladder and start rummaging through my suitcase for my shower caddy. I haven't had a chance to shower or wash my hair this morning, what with getting up at four in the morning to load up Mother's station wagon before coming here to Epcot, and after sweating from lugging my bedding around, I feel kind of gross. And I can't shower at night before going to bed because my hair will take _hours_ (like, at least all night) to dry, and I'm not about to cheat and use a hairdryer because it makes my hair brittle, and my hair's actually one of the few things I like about my appearance.

After my shower, I discover that our bathroom is too small to allow room for me to dress, so I'm going to have wrap myself in my bath towel and then to do it in my room. Oh, well. As Mother would say, _c'est la vie_. At least I'm lucky enough to be sharing a bathroom with only two other girls, unlike the freshmen living in some of the other dorms. According to the university's on-campus housing and dining info page, a "traditional" dorm setup means that the _entire floor _shares a common bathroom. If you ask me, the extra hundred dollars we have to pay every semester for suite-style housing is worth if it means I don't have to constantly be on guard while in the shower because random dudes might come wandering in. Or worry about accidentally walking in on guys in their boxers. No, thank you!

Ironically, no sooner do these thoughts cross my mind than I look up…and find a guy standing in my doorway.

I'm not kidding. Here I am, minding my own business in my room—where I should have every right to expect some privacy, right?—and getting dressed after my shower, when this _guy_ walks in on me when I've just pulled a tank top over my head, and I haven't even put on my pants yet! (Luckily, I still have my towel wrapped around my waist.) How long has this pervert been standing there and watching me dress? Wait, forget I asked! I don't want to know.

So I shriek. Grabbing the nearest impromptu weapon I can find—my hand closes on the handle of a saucepan I brought from home, still sitting in a box of stuff I have yet to unpack (yeah…way to stay on top of things, Rapunzel)—I frantically use my other hand to tug at my tank top in the hopes of covering my bra and then grab onto the towel around my waist to keep it from falling off. Then, still holding onto my towel, I round on this intruder, the blows from my saucepan landing on his forearms as he tries to protect his cranium.

"Pervert!" I scream. "You disgusting, perverted creeper!"

He's trying to maneuver through the kitchen, heading for the suite door, all the while trying to dodge my blows. Oh, _no he doesn't_! I'm not letting this…this depraved creep get away with this! He could have taken a picture of me while I was half-naked and not paying attention, for all I know! He could be planning to put it up on social media to ruin my college life before it even begins!

So I do the one thing I can think of. Dropping my saucepan in the kitchen sink with a clatter, I grab a handful of my wet hair and slap it across his face with a _thwack!_ While he's momentarily stunned, I swiftly grab his wrists and wrap my hair around them, binding them together. (Then I catch my bath towel between my thighs as it threatens to fall off again.)

"Struggling…" I realize my voice is shaking and pause to control it. "Struggling is pointless!"

My prisoner manages to sputter, "I'm sorry! I swear I didn't—" before falling silent as I reach for the saucepan again. He doesn't even squirm against my hair handcuffs.

"Good," I say in a much calmer voice. "Now step away from the door."

"But I thought you wanted me to get out…" His voice trails off uncertainly as I fix him with what I like to call Mother's Evil Eye. It's a lot more intimidating coming from her, but I think he gets the message.

Wordlessly, he follows as I lead him away from the suite door, into my room.

"Now, who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"…I—I'm Flynn, and your roommate said I could come here and borrow her—"

"_Lies!_" I shout. "You're a perverted—a perverted…sick person! You were watching me get dressed! You were planning to—to violate me! Did you have a camera with you, too? Or a phone? So you could take pictures of me to hold over my head?"

He stares. "Are you out of your mind, Blondie?"

I ignore him. "You were going to take pictures of me and put them online and ruin my reputation! Were you watching me from that rich-people hotel across the street? Is that how you got rich—by selling creeper photos of girls? Did you know that you can face federal charges for child pornography because I am legally under the age of majority? Or were you planning to rape me and then brag all about it to your friends? Never mind, I'm going to call the police!"

"Listen, Blondie—"

"_Rapunzel_," I snap.

"…Whatever. Look, I just wanted to borrow—"

"What's going on in here?"

The guy—this "Flynn"—and I both whirl around as a new voice joins the conversation. Mulan is standing in the doorway to the suite and looking more than a little alarmed.

"What's going on in here?" she repeats. "I heard shouting. Is everything okay? Flynn, did you find it—oh! Why are your hands tied toge—is that your _hair_, Rapunzel?" Mulan stares at us for a couple seconds. Then she motions me over for a private conversation. "_What is going on_?" she hisses. "Why is Flynn tied up in your hair?"

"I took a shower, but there wasn't enough room in the bathroom for me to dress, so I had to do it in our room. And when I looked up, _he_ was standing in the doorway and watching me! He would have raped me or taken pictures of me if I hadn't tied him up!"

Mulan gives me the same disbelieving stare that Flynn gave me earlier. "Are you sure about that?"

"Men are only after one kind of thing!" I insist. "Give them and inch, and they'll take a mile!"

My roommate still looks skeptical. "Are you _sure_ you're not jumping to conclusions? Because he lives next door and asked to borrow my iPhone charger, so I sent him into the room to get it."

"That's what he _says_," I argue, even though I'm starting to falter. "But how do you know that wasn't just an alibi?"

Mulan's starting to look more freaked out by the second. "Rapunzel, I don't know what kind of place you're from. But I can _assure_ you, the vast majority of college-aged boys—at least the ones I know—are not psychopathic serial killers waiting for a chance to rape and murder you and then make a bathrobe out of your skin. They've got more important things to do. Now will you please let Flynn go?"

Something about the way she said that—it may have been the tone of exaggerated patience, the one Mother uses when I'm too slow—tells me that I'm committing one of the social faux pas that I'm always mortifying Mother in public for. And I may have caused my roommate to hate me for the rest of the year. Fantastic. _Smart_ move, Rapunzel.

Cheeks burning, I loosen my hair from Flynn's wrists. He bolts as soon as Mulan hands him her phone charger.

* * *

A knock sounds at the door as Mulan and I are finishing with our unpacking. We've spent the last half hour in awkward silence. Thankful for the distraction, I slam the last drawer closed and run over to answer it.

It's Ariel.

"Hey, girls! I'm going out for lunch now. You want to come along? We can go check out the freshman dining hall."

It's nearly one in the afternoon. I realize I haven't eaten since 4 a.m., and I'm starving. "Sure! Mulan? You want to come?"

"I don't see why not. Here—give me a minute to get my keys. I _know_ I put them here somewhere…"

A few minutes later, I'm walking through the main gates of Walt Disney University for the first time, with my roommate and my suitemate by my side.

The campus is gorgeous, much more so than the pictures have led me to believe. Yeah, despite the social incompetence I demonstrated with Flynn and Mulan earlier, I did not, in fact, grow up in a cave. We have Internet, you know. Before college, I'd never left Corona in my life, but I did take virtual tours of campuses and stuff. And let me tell you: WDU's Epcot campus is unlike any place in the world.

As soon as we walk through the gates, we're greeted with a huge lawn (the splash of green comes as a relief, after all the gray from the streets and the buildings of the city), across from which sits the Robin S. Benson Library. Many of the buildings on campus are shaped like castles straight out of a fairytale, and the school library is no exception. While we're admiring the scenery, a clock strikes one p.m. somewhere; I think it's coming from another, much bigger, castle-shaped building looming behind the library. That must be the Woods clock tower, the university's icon, the biggest and one of the oldest buildings on campus. According to the online virtual tour on the university's admissions website, it was named for Ella Woods, a poor country girl who ran away from an abusive home to pursue an education and then wound up becoming the first female dean of the Pixar School of Arts and Sciences.

According to the map the school provided us in our orientation packets, the freshmen dining hall is in the northeastern corner of campus. So basically a little further north from the library. Up ahead, there's a large crowd heading the same way we are across the lawn. I see a lot of the parents are still hanging around, probably going to the dining hall for a farewell lunch with their kids.

I wonder where Mother is now. Assuming she set off for home as soon as she left my room, which was about eleven a.m., she should be about four hours away from home. I wonder what she'll do once she gets back. Besides work, I mean. Now that I'm gone, she won't have to dedicate so much of her time to schooling me. She'll probably focus more on her job, I figure. College tuition is _ridiculous_ these days. Again, I feel a stab of guilt for drying up Mother's money and leaving her alone in Corona, especially since tuition at Corona U is only half that at WDU. Who cares if Disney offers a better education than Corona, if it means I'll graduate under a mountain of debt?

_I'll make it up to you once I get that degree, Mother_.

"So…" Ariel's voice snaps me back into the present. "Rapunzel, Mulan. What are you studying?"

"I'm premed," I reply quickly. "Probably just biology or chemistry. I haven't declared my major yet."

"You like biology, then?"

I shrug, feeling that uncomfortable sensation I get whenever I discuss my career and educational goals. "It's okay. I think I'm more of a chemistry person."

"What about you, Mulan?"

Mulan shrugs, too. "I'm undecided, probably premed, too. Although, to be honest, right now I'm just glad to be away from my parents' constantly nagging me to get married. Though, I guess this means that I'm kind of obligated to succeed, now that they're letting me have what I want," she laughs.

That's odd. Judging by Mulan's last name, I'm pretty sure she's Chinese. Don't Asian parents typically push their kids toward medicine or force them into that field? Or am I falling for stereotypes again? Should I ask? Or would that be rude?

Mulan seems to have read my mind because she grins sheepishly and adds, "My parents are more like traditional East Asians. They were okay with me coming to college, but I can tell they're hoping I'll find someone and drop out and get married."

Oh. My own mother's pretty much the stereotypical "tiger mom," and I'm pretty sure she wants me to _avoid_ relationships in college. So I have no idea what to say in response to Mulan. _At least she _has_ plans of her own_, I think bitterly. I've heard some psychologists come out and say that college isn't for everybody (when I brought it up, Mother quickly dismissed them as hippies advocating for lazy people with low intelligence and skill levels), but there are also people who say college is where some kids finally figure things out. But Mulan and I do have one thing in common: We're both here in college to get away from parents (or _a_ parent, in my case) who want us to pursue a life we're not exactly thrilled to be pursuing. But then again, in coming to college, I'm doing exactly what Mother wants. So…yeah, I have no idea what to say in response to Mulan.

Ariel saves me. "My dad wanted me to study music back home because all six of my sisters went to the Atlantica College of Music. But I think I'm going to go into anthropology or maybe archaeology. So what do you do in your free time?"

I rack my brains. What _did_ I do in my free time back home? "Well, I was homeschooled, but I spent a lot of time reading." That was an understatement, but Ariel doesn't need to know that. No one does. "But I like art…I painted a lot as a kid, and I just got into pottery. And I play guitar." I realize, thus far, Ariel has been the only one asking questions, and I recall Mother telling me on the way to Epcot that it's rude to answer people's questions and not ask some of my own because it shows that I'm not interested in them. "So…what do _you_ like to do, Ariel?"

"I sing," she replies. "My whole family's really musical. And my sisters were all on the swim team in high school, so my dad made me do that, too. Do you guys do any sports?"

"I did kung-fu," Mulan answers. "It took up most of my weekends, so I didn't really have time for much else."

"I did a little ballet and rock climbing," I add. "Though, I don't think I'll have much time for either now."

By now, we've reached the freshmen dining hall. The meal plan period doesn't start until tomorrow morning's breakfast, so we have to shell out our own money for lunch and dinner today.

The food looks good enough. It's all laid out, buffet-style: soups, seafood, pasta, pizza, grill, Asian, desserts, even a vegetarian station. Mulan, Ariel, and I load our plates with what we want and then set about looking for a place to sit.

Most of the tables are empty, probably because people normally eat at noon, and it's already past one in the afternoon. I notice two girls about our age, one with wavy blonde hair and the other with short black curls, sitting at a table nearby. The blonde is watching the three of us with interest, so I decide to go over and introduce myself.

I've heard most college students, like myself, are desperate to make friends and find a place where they can fit in. Growing up, I've never really had any friends, partially because I'm homeschooled and don't have easy access to the social circles of people my age. Some of the suburban kids worked at the nursing home I volunteered at, but they only stay for a summer, and then they're gone. In fact, I've always felt more comfortable around older people, especially folks in nursing homes because they don't have much to do and like to tell me stories from when they were young. And kids my age would think I'm weird if I ask them to tell me stories.

But when I voiced to Mother my misgivings about being able to make friends in college, she told me to "just walk up to some random kids and introduce yourself at the dining hall or in your dorm or something. But be sure to do that early in the year because two weeks in, the friendship-making window will be over, and it'll be weird and awkward to ask to join a table of complete strangers." Worth a try.

So I take a deep breath, putting on my friendliest smile, and approach the two girls with Mulan and Ariel in tow. "Hi! I'm Rapunzel, and these are my roommate and suitemate, Mulan and Ariel. Is it all right if we sit with you?"

The black-haired girl nods and replies, "Sure! It's nice to meet you. I'm Snow."

The blonde adds, "And I'm her roommate Rose."

"So…" Snow begins as we settle into our lunch. "Where are you guys from?"

"I was born in China, but my family lives in Flushing now."

"Corona—well, rural Corona."

"Atlantica."

"Cool. Hey—isn't Atlantica known for its music schools? Do you sing? Or do you play an instrument?"

Ariel shrugs. "I sing, I guess. My sisters go to the Atlantica College of Music, but I prefer to sing for a hobby. Though, I might join one of the acapella groups on campus."

"Really? We were thinking about that, too. Maybe one of the operetta ones…I think they're called the Slumbering Sopranos?"

"I was thinking more about the Chord Busters. But I can give the Sopranos a try. Isn't there a welcome concert for freshmen tomorrow night? We should all go to that together!"

"What about you, Rapunzel and Mulan?" Rose turns to us while Snow and Ariel continue to discuss their singing. "What dorm are you guys in?"

"Valley Tower. You?"

"Silva Hall. I think it's right next door to your building. You should come over to visit us some time."

And just like that, I think I've made four new friends…

* * *

Wow, it's crowded in here.

It's eight p.m., and Ariel, Mulan, and I are squished together on one of the armchairs in the lounge. Around us, our floormates are crammed onto the other armchair and the three sofas. Someone brought a beanbag to college, and there are at least four kids sharing it. And we're just the lucky ones who showed up for the floor meeting early. The less lucky ones are sitting on the floor or standing against the wall as more and more people emerge from their rooms and stare at the jam-packed lounge in dismay.

Yeah…there are about sixty people living in each wing of the floor. I don't think this is going to work. And this is just the west wing. Can you imagine how _congested_ the common area would be if the entire floor were here?

The RAs, Max and a dark-skinned girl I haven't met yet, are practically pressed against the elevators. Max looks pretty frustrated. We're near him enough that I can hear him shouting over the buzz of conversation, "Please, everyone quiet down! We need to get some important information out to you, and we're already five minutes behind schedule! We need to clear out of here in _fifty-five minutes_ so the east wing can have their meeting! Quiet down! Can you hear me?"

Apparently not, with the exception of Mulan, Ariel, myself, and a brunette girl who's reading a book and ignoring everybody. I can tell this is going to be a rather social dorm. How do these people keep up the conversation anyway? Ariel and I spent the rest of the afternoon going from door to door, meeting our neighbors, and I found that there's only so much I can take of all those "Where are you from?" or "What's your major?" questions before I get sick of repeating myself and wonder if the people who ask me these questions even care to hear the answers. And these people are acting as if they've known each other all their lives, instead of for just one afternoon.

I notice that Flynn, the guy I tied up and hit with a saucepan earlier today, is picking his way through our floormates, looking around for a place to sit. He's looking in our general direction, so I duck down.

Eventually, though, the conversation level in the lounge lulls to the point where enough people can finally hear Max and shut up. The RAs breathe a sigh of relief.

The girl speaks first. "Hi, everyone. I'm Tiana, the RA for the east wing of our floor. So, uh, a little about me. I'm from New Orleans, and I'm a senior majoring in business. And I love to bake. There's actually a club on campus for bakers that I'm a member of, in case any of you are interested. The kitchens here are kind of…well, you can't do much more than boil water, but if I have time, I'll bake some goodies in the common kitchen on the first floor. So feel free to stop by in my room to say hi and have some cookies." She nods at Max.

"And I'm Max. Some of you may have seen me going from door to door earlier today. Uh…so I'm a junior, majoring in bioengineering and premed. I'm from suburban Corona, and I'm a member of a research and design team. If any of you premeds out there need help looking for research opportunities, I'm the person you want to be asking. I'm also a member of the Disney Student Emergency Response Team. The loose acronym is DESERT—it's a terrible acronym, I know. If there's an emergency in one of the dorms, we're the first people to rush to the recue—but I'll explain more later, when we're talking about campus safety and security."

Tiana continues, "We're happy to see that you guys are getting along so well—" (Max rolls his eyes) "—and settling in. I actually lived in Valley Tower my freshman year at Disney. You'll find that it's a really close-knit community, and I'm sure we're all going to have a great year together."

The RAs then go into a lengthy and detailed list on What NOT To Do With the Fire Escapes, so I sort of tune them out and let my gaze wander around the common area.

I suddenly find myself accidentally making eye contact with Flynn. _Crap_. He recognizes me—I know he does. You don't just forget about a crazy person who tries to crush your skull in with cookware.

Cheeks burning, I tear my gaze away and stare down at my hands. I pretend my fingernails are _absolutely fascinating_. I've just humiliated myself in front of the same person twice in a day—a new record (my blush is really obvious, and my face turns scarlet as a tomato and only gets worse the more I think about it). I guess I'll have to spend the rest of the year avoiding Flynn, or I'm going to die from the embarrassment.

Then Tiana passes out a packet of papers—I glimpse the title, "Roommate Talking Points"—to each suite, instructing us to fill it out and get it back to the RAs by tomorrow evening, and I make a beeline for our room, where I can be weird and socially awkward in privacy.

* * *

Back in my room, back in (relative) privacy. Mulan's in the shower, and Ariel's in her own room, but I've discovered from the sound of voices from next door that the walls in Valley Tower are kind of thin.

Mother answers before the first ring is complete. _She must have been waiting for me to call all evening_, I realize guiltily.

"Rapunzel, darling! I was beginning to think you'd _never_ call!"

"Sorry, Mother! I was busy unpacking, and then I went with my roommate and suitemate to lunch, and then we went around meeting people on our floor, and then we went to dinner, and then we had a floor meeting with the RAs…"

"Ah, yes, of course. Do what you want! You're in college now. You don't need me around every second of your existence! Go, live your life."

Is she being sarcastic? I really can't tell. So all I say is, "Don't forget to drink your chrysanthemum tea today, Mother."

"Oh, yes! Thank you for reminding me, darling. Mother's getting old and tired. What will I do without you?"

"So…uh, how was your day, Mother? After the drive home, I mean. Did you get enough rest?"

"Rapunzel, dear, you know I never get enough rest. It's raising you that gives me my energy, and now that you're not around… Just…make me proud, Rapunzel. You'll do great in college. I know you will."

"Thanks, Mother." I was planning to ask her to evaluate the outfit I'd picked out for tomorrow, but Mother's compliments are hard to come by. I guess I'll let it go and trust that I make the right choices. "Good night."

We exchange our traditional dialogue of "I love yous," and then I crawl into bed. Tomorrow, Orientation starts for real, and the choices I make regarding which presentations and panels to attend will affect what information I receive, which in turn will impact my educational journey for the next four years. No pressure, Rapunzel. None at all.

* * *

**End note: **Well, everybody, here you go. Sorry for going *poof* on Rapunzel's Rebellion for nearly a full year. I've been working my butt off for my classes and trying to make time for my friends in between. I had the rest of the chapters for Rapunzel's Rebellion planned out, but my computer crashed, and I lost everything because I was too dumb to back my files up, so that story will be on hiatus until I finish this one.

On the bright side, I now have a year of college under my belt, so I can and will try to make this story as realistic as possible, hence the T rating. I hope you like it and follow, and I hope it doesn't come off as too autobiographical in later chapters. And yes, most of the Disney princesses will have cameos, some more than others. Have fun catching all the Easter Eggs! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** Argh, sorry I'm late updating this one, guys! I had a week of summer vacation when I pounded out the first chapter, but I had to go to back to school to take two really demanding summer classes, complete with all-nighters and weekly midterms. (Seriously, summer school is the most stressful way to get ahead, ever.) Anyway, here's the next chapter at long last. I'm going to try to get Chapter 3 out sometime in the next two weeks, before the school year kills me. Thanks for all the follows, reviews, and/or favorites, especially to fcnoyes63, whose review made me finally get off my butt and finish this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I own none of these characters.

* * *

**~Chapter 2~**

_Twelve years prior…_

"_Mommy, why aren't we watching _Sabrina _tonight? What is this?"_

"_I thought you might find this rerun more interesting. See? It's about someone who becomes a doctor when he's only a teenager."_

"_What's a teenager?"_

"_Someone who's thirteen years old to eighteen years old. They're not quite grown-ups like Mommy yet."_

"_When do people usually become doctors?"_

"_Well, I would imagine around…thirty?"_

"_Oh."_

"_Pay attention to the show, Flower."_

"_Why do the people in this show wear such funny clothes?"_

"_They're doctors, dear. They wear scrubs to keep from spreading germs. Don't you remember that time you had that nasty flu, and all the doctors at the hospital were wearing those lab coats, and you thought they were ghosts?"_

"_But that doctor is wearing green. Why is he wearing green, Mommy?"_

"_He's a surgeon, darling. Surgeons dress differently from regular doctors."_

"_Why?"_

"_Well, surgeons have to open up their patients to fix them up, and it's easier for them to see blood if they wear green because red and green are opposite colors. Remember those surgeons on the box of your _Operation_ set? They wear green, too."_

"_Oh."_

…

"_Mommy, can I be a doctor when I grow up?"_

"_Of course you can, Flower! Don't you remember how Mommy had a headache, and you brewed chrysanthemum tea all by yourself, and then Mummy felt much better? You have a nature talent for healing, Flower."_

* * *

I emerge from my dream state to the sound of someone knocking—no, pounding—on the door outside. And from the sounds of it, whoever it is has been knocking for quite some time.

It must be Mother—oh, no! What time is it? Have I slept in? She must be furious, and then I'm going to get a lecture on personal responsibility and how people who want to be doctors don't laze about in bed like some sort of princess because you can become obese, or your muscles will atrophy, or it develops into a disgusting cycle…

I'm about to swing my legs over the edge of the bed when I freeze and realize that there's a fence on one side of my bed, with a six-foot drop below.

_Oh._

The insistent knocking comes again. It must be one of the RAs. It's Day One of Orientation, and everyone's required to attend the "cultural competency" assembly at 8 a.m., so last night the RAs promised to come around at 7 to wake everyone up and walk us over to the assembly.

Across the room, Mulan groans and snuggles deeper into her comforter, only to bolt upright, nearly smacking her head on the ceiling seconds later as her alarm clock—a red Oriental-style dragon stiking an obnoxious cymbal-like gong—goes off. "Mushu," she groans, smacking the snooze button.

I can hear voices outside now. Ariel must have answered the door. Her bed isn't lofted like ours because she's in a single, so she doesn't have to risk her neck every time she climbs in or out of bed.

Yawning, I attempt to straighten out my covers and then pad out into the kitchenette.

"Oh, good, you're up." It's Tiana. "It's a little after seven now, but we're meeting in the common area outside the elevators at quarter till eight."

Forty-five minutes? On a normal day back home, I'd probably be ready in fifteen minutes, but when am I going to find the time to eat breakfast? It took Ariel, Mulan, and me about fifteen whole minutes to get to the dining hall yesterday. There's no way I'm going to be able to eat breakfast and get back in time to join the rest of the floor.

Skipping breakfast is harmful. Mother's made this point plenty of times. You haven't eaten since dinner the night before, over twelve whole hours ago, and it'll be a lot harder to think clearly if your brain and stomach are busy going, "But…I…neeeeeed…foooooooooood…" In fact, when I was younger, Mother would threaten me with no breakfast the next morning whenever I misbehaved because it really is terrible for your body.

I guess I'll have to stop by at the vending machine down the hall. I'll admit I kind of balked when I found out yesterday that they don't have any healthy options, but I guess it's better than getting _no_ nutrients. And what Mother doesn't know won't kill her…right?

* * *

This is really boring. The speaker at the cultural competency assembly started off about an hour ago with, "Did you know that ninety percent of undergraduates here at Walt Disney University are not from the Epcot area?"

Of course. We all know that. Disney has a reputation for accepting students who _aren't_ native to Epcot. It's one of the reasons I decided to come here instead of Corona U, where just about _everyone_ is Coronan, and most of the undergraduates went to the same high school. A homeschooled freak like me would never fit in there.

Not that I'd have much better of a chance fitting in at WDU, though. I cringe as I recall the fiasco yesterday with a certain Peeping Tom who wasn't intentionally being a Peeping Tom. But at least most people here haven't known each other since kindergarten, so there aren't any cliques yet.

Next to me, Mulan is so bored that she's playing some kind of fruit-slicing game on her iPhone. Ariel has her ear buds in and is probably oblivious to her own humming. Even the RAs look thoroughly disinterested in race riot statistics. Some of the kids around us are actually holding side conversations as the speaker is presenting—and they're not even whispering discreetly. Isn't this kind of rude? I mean, I guess I'm not much better, since this assembly _is_ really, really boring. But at least I'm making an effort and pretending to pay attention!

Had I acted like these people during lessons with Mother, I would have been sent to my room for the rest of the day and threatened with no lunch, or no dinner, or no bathroom breaks, the works. Is it normal to completely ignore a speaker if the presentation is boring? This "real world" sure is bizarre.

* * *

Two hours later, our dorm is attending another assembly. This one's about alcohol and other drugs. The drinking age in Epcot is 21, and the university rules expressly forbid the possession of alcohol in any of the residence halls, so I'm not even sure why we're having this discussion or why this speaker—some professor of neuroscience—is saying stuff like, "If you absolutely _have_ to drink, we'd rather you do so responsibly and stop at 'buzzed.'"

They even passed around these laminated cards with charts that show you how many drinks it takes to raise your blood alcohol content to the legal limit, depending on your weight. My weight isn't even _on_ these charts. (And before you call me anorexic, allow me to remind you that I'm really short. My BMI is healthy, thanks. In fact, a few weeks ago, Mother was raising concerns that I was getting "chubby.")

Anyway, now the speaker is talking about how alcohol inhibits the decision-making process and how the consequences manifest themselves in the morning: at best, you get a hangover; at worst, you can die in a car accident or wander onto the street and get run over. Or if you're a girl, you could get…yeah. (At this point, the brown-haired girl who had her nose in a book during the entire floor meeting last night—I think her name is…Bella? Belle? Something like that—starts muttering about how it isn't fair that people blame a girl for getting drunk and letting herself get raped when it's really the perpetrator's fault for doing it in the first place, and _ARRRGGHH, misogynists are despicable pigs!_)

The speaker has moved on from alcohol to other stuff…

Whoa, people actually take medication meant for people with ADHD because it helps you concentrate? Isn't that cheating? There are so many things wrong with this! For starters, it's completely unethical. If you can't do well in school unless you take drugs that you don't need, then you're giving yourself an unfair advantage over classmates who actually work their rear ends off for grades that they earn. Second, like the speaker just mentioned, if you don't have ADHD or a condition that requires the use of focus-inducing drugs to make you "normal," then you don't have a physiological need for those drugs. So if you take them, you can get seriously messed up and wind up addicted and dependent on these drugs for life.

Like, I don't even drink coffee because Mother considers caffeine a mind-altering drug. It's addictive, and I remember reading that caffeine has been proven to have mutagenic properties and to cause damage to certain organs after prolonged exposure. No, thanks.

The RAs are back now to collect us. I check the schedule in my orientation packet. Next up is date rape awareness.

* * *

This is awkward.

Like, really awkward. The speakers for this presentation are a comedy group that travels from school to school, putting on skits that educate college students about consent and protection. And they're not afraid to use, ah, raunchy language in their skits. Right now, the guy is invading the girl's personal space and being really pervy (the obvious message being, "If she doesn't seem interested, back off"). Really, are all guys this grabby?

And I somehow got separated from Mulan and Ariel on the way here, so I'm stuck amid five or six guys on our floor, and they're all nudging and winking at each other every time the speakers mention anything about reproductive anatomy.

_Sigh_.

So far, Orientation has been a series of lectures on common sense, nothing that'll help me get ahead in my premed career. At least, it seems like common sense to me because it's what I've heard nearly every day from Mother for almost eighteen years.

Maybe the afternoon will be better. After all, I've got a premed meeting coming up next. This and the next one—something about how to take effective notes and study for exams—seem to be geared more toward what I'm looking for.

* * *

"So…" Ariel looks expectantly across the table at Mulan and me. "How was the premed initiation…talk…thingy?"

It's evening now, and to celebrate a "successful first day" on campus (meaning no one broke down and started blubbering about wanting to go home), the RAs decided to take our entire floor to the freshmen dining hall for a "floor family dinner" before going to the Freshmen Welcome Acapella Concert. Around us, our floormates are taking shameless advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet and the copious amount of dessert choices (because mommy's not here anymore to scold you if you skip dinner and go straight to sweets).

At our suitemate's innocuous question, Mulan and I share a glance; she smirks, and I groan at the memory. Then we start talking simultaneously.

"Well, it wasn't that much more disappointing than anything else we've been to today. It was just a little…dry? Nothing earth-shattering—"

"Are you for _real_? Orientation's been a total rip-off! If anything, Disney's just having us freshmen move in two days before the upperclassmen so we can get used to living away from home! I hear most of the people on our floor are seriously considering just not going to any of the programs they have scheduled for tomorrow—"

"Yeah, okay, true. I'd join them, but my mother would kill me if she found out I skipped out on something that could shape my future just because I found it a little bit boring—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ariel holds up her hands. "One at a time, please! Mulan, why don't you go first, since Rapunzel's obviously hiding something?"

Busted. I should have known my blush would give me away. I bury my face in my hands in mock distress.

Mulan's smirk widens. "You really want to know what went wrong? First we got lost on campus looking for the building. Then we got lost _in_ the building. Then Rapunzel got in trouble with the janitor. Then—"

"_Mulan_! Can we not?"

"Oh, hush, honey! Let her talk! I want to know _all_ the deets!"

"You guys are terrible friends," I deadpan. "I guess I'm not letting you share my stash of chrysanthemum tea after all." I teasingly flick a wadded-up napkin at them, but Mulan waves it off and continues her story.

Anyway, here are the _details_ Ariel's dying for:

After a rather late lunch, Mulan and I headed off to the premed presentation, in some building that took us fifteen minutes to find because it's tucked away in some obscure corner of campus beyond an overgrown garden that's not even on the map. We were like, "Yeah, the map says to follow the path we're on right now…but it goes right into that creepy forest…"

Hey, maybe it's like a test—only the bravest and most persistent get to know the secrets of premed success.

So we were late walking into the building where the event was supposed to be held. But wait! It gets even better (/sarcasm).

So we found the building, but we couldn't figure out where _in_ the building the meeting was. There was a piece of paper taped to the front door that read, "Pre-Medicine Presentation will be held in Room—" Someone had torn off the rest of the note, so we had no idea where to go. (Darn you, premed, for being so cutthroat!)

Long story short, I made a fool of myself in front of Mulan when I opened a door to what I thought was going to be a lecture hall but was actually a janitor's closet. Then a janitor happened to be walking by and yelled at me. Then he muttered something about dumb blondes and bookish Asians with no common sense and then snapped that the premeds were supposed to be downstairs. Apparently, there are lecture halls in the basement, too.

We got to the presentation twenty minutes late, and the entire (packed) room turned around and stared at us as we walked in because the door was really squeaky. Mortified, Mulan darted into the nearest row of empty seats and signaled for me to join her. I would have, but the row happened to be reserved for handicapped individuals, so I shook my head at Mulan and looked around for another empty seat. Then the professor giving the presentation stopped and called out, "Is there a problem?"

I realized he was addressing me…and everyone in the room was staring at me again. Probably wondering what a ditz like me was doing in this _premed_ meeting. "Um, no, sir," I managed to squeak. "Everything's…fine. Good! Goody great-great!"

I expected him to continue his presentation, but he was still looking at me expectantly. What? Did I suddenly sprout a second head? Was my fly unzipped?

"For heaven's sake, Rapunzel, _sit down_," Mulan hissed.

_Oh_.

I did, gingerly, as if the seat cushion were made of lava, and the presentation continued. The speaker was talking about how there's really no "right" way to get into medical school, how you can have a golden 4.0 GPA and still get rejected if you don't have enough extracurriculars, etc. But I could barely pay attention because I kept squirming in this seat that was reserved for someone else and imagining Mother's disapproving scowl. I could almost hear her growling, "_You were always such an obedient child. It's such a shame, now that you're in college, that you think yourself too good for following the rules_."

Besides, everything that the speaker said was straight from the university's premed webpage, so I went through all that humiliation for nothing.

And the "study-smarter" discussion was even more of a joke. I got there five minutes early to avoid embarrassing myself again like I did during the premed one. They just passed out these fliers on tutoring groups we can go to for extra help and then dismissed the meeting. _Wow_.

* * *

"Whatcha doing?"

It's Day Two of Orientation, and I've decided to skip any talks that are going on today because I really don't want a repeat of yesterday's premed debacle. Unfortunately, I've just realized, now that I've unpacked and settled into my new home (okay, temporary home), and I no longer have Mother constantly hounding me to study for the SAT or my AP tests, and classes haven't started yet, I have a ton of free time on my hands that I have nothing to do with. I've already finished all three books that I brought with me to college to read for pleasure, and I'm considering breaking out my paints when I notice that Mulan's been hunched over her laptop ever since we got back from breakfast…about three hours ago.

Mulan swivels around in her desk chair. "Oh, hey, Rapunzel. Just Facebook messaging some old high school friends."

"Facebook?"

"Yeah, you know? The social networking site where you stalk and 'friend' and 'poke' people?" Noticing my blank expression, she sighs. "It's how a lot of kids waste time and procrastinate. You're better off not getting dragged in."

A _ping!_ signals a notification. "Maximus Welker has accepted your friend request. Write on Maximus's timeline…"

"What's a timeline?" I ask Mulan, hoping it's not too stupid a question.

Mulan doesn't seem to mind. "It's a page where you can display your information and all your posts. See? All my photos are here, and here's a list of pages I like, and here's some basic information about me, and here's a list of people I'm friends with…"

"How do you have over four hundred friends?" I almost gasp. Back home, I had a grand total of zero friends, being homeschooled and all, though I'd consider the other kids who volunteered at the nursing home to be…casual acquaintances. They called me "Homie," which they claimed was ghetto language for "close friend," but I'm pretty sure they meant "homeschooler," with all its stereotypical connotations. (Corona has a really good public schooling system, so the immediate general attitude toward homeschooled kids equates them with oddballs.)

Mulan waves her hand dismissively. "Most of them aren't really my friends, just people I know by name at school or people I've talked to once or twice and agreed to keep in touch with."

Just then, I notice that three more notifications have popped up.

"Ariel Triton wants to be friends on Facebook."

"Aladdin Cassin has accepted your friend request."

"Aurora Rose Stephan poked you."

"What's a poke?" I ask Mulan.

She shrugs. "It's entirely pointless, and actually kind of annoying." She accepts Ariel's friend request and moves to minimize her browser window. "You ready to go to lunch? The activities fair's supposed to open in an hour."

* * *

Whoa, the activities fair is _huge_. The entire gym floor in the athletics center is crammed with folding tables and hastily put-together poster boards advertising the various student groups Disney offers, from aikido club to the Zimbabwean Students Association.

Ariel, Mulan, and I gawk for a moment at all the different booths before bidding each other good luck and parting ways. Muttering half-hearted apologies as I squeeze through the throngs of freshmen everywhere, I find myself wandering past a row of posters for various fraternities and sororities, which Mother had warned me to avoid like the plague, before I pause in front of a booth for a chess club. Their poster is covered with paper cutouts of rubber duckies, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's a play on the fact that the club is called the Disney University Chess Knights (DUCK).

I must have been scrutinizing the poster for too long because the upperclassman manning the booth looks thoroughly bored as he grunts and hands me a flyer and waves me on.

Tucking the flyer away in my purse, I avert my attention to the next booth. Silverware collecting (what the heck?). I notice that Ariel's among the freshmen crowded around the booth.

"Hey!" Someone bumps into me from behind.

"Oh, hi, Mulan!" I raise my voice over the general din of the gymnasium. "See anything interesting yet?"

"No," she shouts back. "The congestion is ridiculous! You want to browse along the perimeter until people start clearing out?"

It's as good a plan as any, so we gingerly step around the silverware collectors (why do I have a feeling this club is actively encouraging theft from the dining hall?) and turn down offers of flyers from Parcheesi Club and Cloud Watching. I can't believe there are people who don't find these things fatally boring—and this is coming from someone who read SAT prep books and CliffsNotes growing up.

"Hey, you!" A gravelly, masculine-sounding voice jerks me out of my musings. Mulan and I whirl around to see one of the guys manning the Chinese Cultural Club table waving his arms in the air, giving off an uncanny resemblance to a gorilla throwing a tantrum. "Over here, bro," he calls in our general direction.

My confusion is mirrored in my roommate's expression. I could've sworn the guy was talking to Mulan, but the last time I checked, people don't address girls as "bro." I glance around us for an Asian-looking male the Gorilla-Guy could possibly be referring to, but he shouts again, "Yes, you! I'm talking to you, next to that short blonde girl! Come over here, bro! You want me to shout it in Chinese, too?"

"He thinks I'm a _guy_?" Mulan's expression of complete bafflement is priceless. She self-consciously tugs at the ends of her black hair—somewhere between shoulder-length and chin-length. "It used to be down to my waist, but I cut it off in a moment of rebellion," she explains quickly. "I didn't think it was _that_ short!"

"I think it's more the army pants and hoodie than the hair," I point out. "Come on, let's go see what he wants before he calls you 'bro' a third time."

As we approach Gorilla-Guy's table, one of the other guys—a tall, scrawny beanpole—leaps up from his seat and smacks Gorilla-Guy upside the head. "That's a girl, you idiot!" he yells.

Gorilla-Guy's eyes widen, and I have to bite my cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter at the horrified look on his face. "Holy crap, you're right! My god, this is awkward—" He clears his throat and says hastily to Mulan, "Sorry about that! As you can see, we don't get many girls interested in joining our clu—"

"Don't you know how to sell your own product?" Beanpole shakes his head in disgust. Plastering onto his face a painfully artificial grin, he extends a hand for Mulan to shake. "Hi, I'm Ling, with the Chinese Cultural Club. This is Chien-Po—" he gestures at the third member of their party, a chubby guy who looks almost exactly like a Buddha "—and this bumbling idiot here is—"

"Hey!"

"Well, you are! How can anyone be that dumb? What kind of Asian are you anyway?"

"That's it! Imma hit you so hard, it'll make your ancestors dizzy!" With that, Gorilla-Guy bunches the front of Ling's shirt into one fist and rears back the other.

Shooting us an apologetic glance, Chien-Po intervenes, gently pinning Gorilla-Guy's arms to his sides and—my jaw drops—lifting him clear off the ground. "Yao, relax and chant with me!" He proceeds to drawl, cheerfully ignoring the fact that his detainee's face has turned purple with rage, "_Namo amitofu ta…_"

Gorilla—I mean, Yao—rolls his eyes and mutters, "Yamoo-amee-tofu-dablublubluh…"

"So!" Ling turns his attention back to Mulan and me, attempting to straighten his collar. "You should think about joining the CCC! It'll be loads of fun—we have Chinese food at all our meetings, and you don't have to be Chinese to join! And if we get enough new members this year, Shang might even be able to override Chi Fu and let us have a dumpling-making workshop!"

"Shang? Chi Fu?" I inquire. The names are starting to make my head spin.

Ling waves a hand dismissively. "Chi Fu's our club faculty advisor. He's a fun-hating idiot but harmless enough. And Shang's the student president of the club." Here, Ling's voice lowers to a whisper. "He says if we don't get more girls to join the club, the Disney Feminist Alliance—" he cocks his head in the direction of a booth directly across the gym "—will complain to the school that Chi Fu's scaring off all our female club members. I mean, _we_ personally wouldn't mind getting rid of him, but the club needs a faculty advisor, and we'll get shut down if they remove him. Shang says he'll have to resort to his secret weapon if we don't recruit some girls soon."

Mulan raises an eyebrow. "Secret weapon?"

Ling leans in conspiratorially. "His six-pack. Don't trigger the six-pack…"

I don't miss the faint dusting of Mulan's cheeks as she snatches a flyer and mutters, "I'll think about it," before dragging me away from the table, back into the masses of club-hunting freshmen.

"Mulan, wait!" I gasp, trying desperately not to lose her in the crowd. "What's a six-pack? He's not going to get girls drunk and then coerce them into signing a contract to join the club, is he?"

"A six-pack," Mulan states flatly, not breaking stride, "is another name for well-defined abdominal muscles in the configuration of a six-pack of canned drinks."

"What's so bad about tha—oh." Seduction. _Awkward_…

"I think I'm going to join, though," Mulan continues. "Those guys seem like they'd be fun to hang around. And since I rejected my parents' plans to marry me off like a good little traditional Chinese daughter, I can sort of make it up to them by not entirely rejecting my…Chinese-ness."

"Aw, are you _sure_ it's not about the club president's chiseled six-pack?" (I know it's mean to tease, but I couldn't resist. After all, I've never even had a real conversation with a guy before, so the only way I'll be able to have any semblance of a love life is vicariously.)

_Just like your mother is living her dream of becoming a doctor through you?_

The unwelcome thought comes out of nowhere, and I hastily push it away. _If I go around with an attitude like that, medical schools will instantly know that I'm not even interested in what I'm studying—_Don't think like that!

Mulan blushes again and mumbles, "I haven't even met the guy yet. I don't know what you're talking ab—_oof!_"

I realize Mulan has dragged me clear across the gym floor to the Disney Feminist Alliance's table, half-crashing into one of the freshmen checking out the club.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going! Are you okay? I'm so—" Mulan stops mid-apology, and we both take a closer look at the girl she bumped into.

She's tall—I would guess around 5'6"—with hazel eyes and wavy brown hair tied into a loose ponytail. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place where I've seen her before. (Hey, at least I managed to recognize her at all, what with all the new faces I've seen in the past two and a half days! Unless, of course, I don't actually know her, and I'm just mistaking her for someone else I don't exactly remember, in which case that would just be awkward... But, hey, I'm a giant steaming lump of awkwardness in human form, so what can you do?)

While I've been rambling in my head, the girl has regained her composure and assured Mulan that she's fine, and all is forgiven.

Before I can stop myself, the filter between my brain and my mouth conveniently decides to take a leave of absence, and I blurt out, "Do I know you? You look awfully familiar!" Which, from anyone else, might have come off as smooth and socially-savvy. But from me, it came out two octaves too high-pitched and entirely too chipper, considering we nearly knocked her over.

The girl, however, doesn't seem to notice. She flashes me a friendly smile and replies, "Yeah…I thought you looked familiar, too. I think we're floormates—Valley Tower, right? I don't think I ever formally introduced myself. I'm Belle."

I shake the hand she extends. "Rapunzel. And this is my roommate, Mulan."

"I thought I recognized your hair. It's very pretty." She shakes hands with Mulan, too, and then says, "So…where are you girls from?"

We go through the typical introductions that have basically become second nature by now. Turns out, Belle's majoring in engineering because she grew up assisting her father, a mechanic and inventor, in a small town (I forget exactly where already—wow, go me) where people were "stuck in the eighteenth century," and she couldn't wait to leave. "I'm joining the Feminist Alliance so I can hang around people who actually encourage my educational plans for once," she finishes.

"Yeah, I think I'll join, too. I guess I need confirmation that I didn't make a stupid decision in coming to college instead of letting my parents marry me off." Mulan grimaces.

"I am so sorry you had to deal with that."

"Oh, uh, will you look at that!" I exclaim, a little too loudly. "I think I see a booth for arts and crafts! I'll catch you guys later!"

Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against equal opportunities for both genders, having grown up with a feminist mother and all… It's just that I can tell Belle was probably expecting from me a similar story about being discouraged from pursuing an education because of parental disapproval or the bigoted mindset of my community. When, y'know, in reality, Mother pushed me to study hard and get into college and (hopefully) med school, as if anything else I settled for would be a huge disappointment. And when you put it like that, I'll just sound like a whiny brat whose diamond shoes are too tight. _Which I kind of am…_ A pang of guilt stabs me as I recall my terse, impatient replies to Mother's inquiries during our phone conversation last night.

I wasn't lying, though, when I said I saw a booth for arts and crafts. I'm standing in front of it right now, skimming over their poster. They're called Crafts for Charity, and the members sell their artwork and donate the proceeds to charities that help underprivileged children in Epcot City. A chance to pursue a hobby I love, in the name of a noble cause? Count me in!

* * *

"Where'd you disappear off to this afternoon, anyway?"

Mulan and I are back in our room, about to head out to another "family dinner" with our floor before going to the convocation ceremony. I'm debating whether or not to dress up and then go to dinner or change after dinner, since the RAs told us to meet up for dinner at 6, and the ceremony isn't until 7:30.

Mulan's looking at me expectantly. What..? Oh. Right.

"I, um, found this club where they sell their artwork and donate the proceeds to charity, and then I got into a lengthy conversation about art with another freshman."

"Cool." Mulan frowns at her reflection in her full-length mirror. She's wearing a long red, pink, and blue dress that I think is rather pretty, but she looks as if she's being suffocated. "My parents wanted me to bring this dress—it's the only one I brought with me—to wear for convocation and send pictures home. I don't know…it's a little _too_ dressy…"

"How formal is convocation supposed to be anyway?" I overheard a couple of guys on our floor deciding to ditch their neckties earlier.

Mulan shrugs, grimacing again as she tugs at the fabric that currently has her throat in a chokehold. "I think I'm just going to wear slacks and tell my parents I outgrew the dress." She paws through her wardrobe and then walks out the door.

My gaze lands on the pink sundress I'm planning to wear to the ceremony. Maybe I should put it on later. If I wear it to dinner, chances are high I'll spill something on it. And even if my clumsiness doesn't do the dress in, I'll most likely finish dinner really quickly and have nothing to do while waiting for convocation to start. Or I'll be forced to either make small talk with the people sitting around me or sit in uncomfortable silence while pretending to examine my fingernails. Yeah, definitely later.

Pretty much the entire floor has gathered around the elevators by the time Ariel, Mulan, and I emerge into the common area. The numbers above the elevator doors indicate that one of the elevators is rising while the other is bouncing between the first and second floors.

"Oh, for the love of apples!" Max huffs, jabbing the down button again. "Have the kids on the second floor ever heard of a thing called stairs? Forget dinner! At this rate, we won't get to convocation until next week!"

Everyone groans as the rising elevator snubs our floor, instead stopping on the fifth floor and making its way down, mostly likely planning to stop along the way for the kids summoning it from the fourth and third floors as well. Ah, the joys of living on the top floor...

"Okay, that's it! Everybody take the stairs!"

We manage to make it to the ground floor before the elevator does. Ha!

As we make our way onto campus and toward the freshmen dining hall, I notice that about half of us are dressed up, and the other half are probably waiting to change. Okay, at least now I feel like less of an idiot next to my impeccably-dressed roommate and suitemate…

* * *

"Shouldn't you being going back to change now?"

Oh, yeah. I check my phone. It's 7:10. I have twenty minutes to run back to the dorm, change into my dress, and then run to the farthest corner of campus.

Crap.

As if my alarm were contagious, everyone at our table who has yet to change springs up and starts gathering his or her stuff before we all run out of the cafeteria in a panicked mob.

We manage to make it back to Valley Tower in two minutes, taking a shortcut through an alleyway that seems like it could be rather shady after dark, but we don't have time to worry about that. The elevators are all still busy, since everyone still in the building is heading out for convocation right about now, so my floormates and I decide to bypass the elevators and sprint up the six flights of stairs.

In my room, I kick off my sneakers, briefly panic when one of my elbows gets caught in the sleeve of my T-shirt, kick off my jeans, throw the dress over my head, and run a brush through my hair with one hand while simultaneously tugging on a pair of platform wedge sandals with my other hand. Not the smartest choice of footwear, I know, considering I now have...fifteen minutes to run across the entire campus, but they're the only things I have that won't clash with my dress. I mean, I can't have people thinking Mother never taught me to dress properly, now can I? I make a mental note to ask the RAs if there's a shopping mall or something nearby, where I can get some more sensible shoes.

Yeah, I really have my priorities straight.

Aaaanyway, after stumbling back down six flights of stairs in ankle-breaking platform wedges, I'm practically sprinting for the front door with a handful of guys from my floor when we hear a thunderclap and freeze. And then, out of nowhere, it's suddenly _pouring_ outside.

Great. Just greaty-great-great. I am _so_ not going back upstairs for an umbrella. Luckily, two of the four guys watching the sky in dismay from the doorway thought to bring umbrellas down with them and are now unfurling them to share.

One of them notices me and waves me over. "You can walk under this one with us," he offers. Saved!

And just like that, we slowly pick our way through the puddles, careful not to splash our clothes as it continues to rain cats and dogs. My companions and I make a little small talk on the way. The guy holding the umbrella is named Aladdin and came from Saudi Arabia, and the other guy introduced himself as David from Hawaii.

When I mention that I'm from Corona, Aladdin comments, "Cool, my roommate's from Corona, too. Which part of Corona are you from?"

"The Woods. I was homeschooled, though, so I don't actually know anyone my age from there."

"Ah. You know there's a Facebook page for our class, right? I think they have a doc where people can add where they're from."

Maybe I should look into this Facebook thing...

We've finally reached our destination. As the crowd squeezes through the doors, Aladdin slips away to close his umbrella without whapping random people. "Thanks!" I call after him. I follow the crowd that's slowly making its way into the auditorium.

The curtains are closed, and there's a flag standing on either end of the stage. I recognize them to be the flags of the Pixar School of Arts and Sciences and the Lucasfilm School of Engineering. In between these two flags, hung from the rafters, is the Class of 2016 banner. (We were supposed to have a banner walk before the ceremony, but I guess the rain changed everybody's mind.) There's also a row of empty chairs lined across the stage, and in front of these chairs, a podium emblazoned with the university crest (which always reminded me of a water molecule) and motto (_If you can dream it, you can do it_).

Most of the seats are already filled, so I have no idea where the rest of my floor is. Oh, well. Up ahead, faculty members are ushering students into their seats and handing them programs. I wind up seated amidst a bunch of strangers, apparently none of whom knows the others, based on the awkward silence strangling us while the rest of the auditorium buzzes with conversation. With nothing better to do, I flip through the programs that the faculty handed me on my way in. It doesn't say much, just the names of the people who will be speaking tonight, along with the sheet music and lyrics to the university's alma mater.

A while later, everyone quiets down as the house lights dim down, and the band set up in the orchestra pit starts playing the Epcot national anthem, "Mickey Mouse Club March."

The final chords of the song are still ringing throughout the auditorium as a man in a royal blue robe ascends the steps to the stage and approaches the podium.

"Good evening, and welcome to the Walt Disney University Class of 2016 convocation ceremony." (Half-hearted applause.) "I'm the president of the university, Robert Iger, and it is my pleasure to be among the first to welcome you to one of the finest and most diverse universities in the world and to your new life as a college student and a young adult." He goes on to talk about bridges and new horizons and opportunities or something, but my mind starts wandering as soon as I hear the words "young adult."

Okay, so technically, I'm still going to be a minor for another month, but I know President Iger is referring to the fact that we've "left the nest," so to speak, and no longer have our parents holding our hands and guiding us around. But young adults don't trip over themselves while attempting to socialize. No, they conduct themselves confidently—because shyness and nervous stumbling followed by resigned silence is often misconstrued as unfriendly and aloof.

We're all on an equal footing here, I realize. It's like we all got dumped in the ocean, and the only way to survive is to cling to some rocks jutting out of a cliff…or to cling onto the hand extended by some luckier soul who managed to get to the rock before you. And once you two become friends, you can hold your free hand out to the poor soul flailing around nearby, so all three of you become friends. And so on, until you have an entire chain of friends, which can then latch onto another chain nearby, hanging off another rock, and then you have an entire network of people who care about you, and it won't matter that you used to be a friendless homeschooled freak who couldn't leave the house without embarrassing herself.

Just about every freshman arrived virtually friendless and desperate to make a good impression on people we're hoping will be our friends. Maybe that's why I've always experienced so much anxiety in social situations—I'm too stuck in my own head, worrying that others are judging me. Maybe it's time to give my classmates the benefit of the doubt. I've made it to college; I've got a change of scenery; I'm about to carve my own path without my mother constantly taking over for me because "you're doing it all wrong!" No one here knows about my socially-incompetent past (well, except for Mulan, my amazing roommate and liaison between the rock I live under and the outside world), so there's nothing stopping me from coming out of my shell and being a better, bolder Rapunzel Gothel…

Wow, that was deep.

President Iger seems to have read my mind (or maybe great minds really do think alike), because he starts telling us an anecdote:

"I remember when I was in your position. An anonymous freshman, just arrived at Walt Disney University. I remember on Day One of Move-In, my roommate and I were unpacking our stuff in awkward, nervous silence when one of our new neighbors came over and knocked on our door to say hi. We wound up joining her in knocking on our floormates' doors and greeting everybody, and I will forever be grateful for her bold, friendly personality. Because if my roommate and I hadn't met her, and we hadn't taken her up on her invitation to say hi to the rest of our dorm, I probably would have never gotten to know all the amazing people I spent my freshman year with. Some of these folks remain my closest friends today, including two friends who eventually got married." (A collective "aww…") "So come out of your shell—go out of your comfort zone a little. Explore what kind of person you are and what person you want to become. Thank you, and may you have an unforgettable four years with us at Walt Disney University." (A smattering of polite applause.) "And now, please sing along to our alma mater, 'When You Wish Upon a Star.'"

After the song, men and women dressed in white robes ascend to the stage and sit down in the row of chairs. They must be the board members. I notice one of the men is wearing a black robe and is approaching the podium.

He introduces himself as Dr. Ed Catmull, dean of the Pixar School of Arts and Sciences, before launching into a welcome speech similar to President Iger's, all about coming out of your comfort zone, lest you miss out on meeting some amazing people. "Now is the time to meet as many new people as you can, expand your worldview, experience some new cultures on our diverse campus. So when you walk into the very first lecture class of your college years, make an effort to know your classmates around you. You may find that the funny-looking individual sitting three rows behind you could very well become your new best friend…or even your future spouse."

"_Why is everybody suddenly talking about marriage?_"

The exclamation comes from a couple of rows in front of me. It must have come out a little too loudly because around me, several heads, including mine, swivel around to look for the source of the outburst. A girl with unruly ginger curls looks around sheepishly and shrinks down in her seat.

Fortunately, her exclamation wasn't loud enough for Dr. Catmull hear catch because he keeps talking, so everyone just snickers and brushes it off.

The red-haired girl does have a point, though. I've never been to public high school, but based on the rants I overhear from the local teens who volunteer at the Corona Woods Nursing Home with me, I'm pretty sure they all get the same lecture I get from Mother: _You're too young to know what love is. High school relationships shouldn't be taken seriously. You still need time to mature. Teens who get married straight out of high school are out of their minds._ Yet the instant we get to college, people are encouraging us to start looking for our soul mates or risk being alone forever.

We're here in college to learn—to practice living on our own, not to shop for a spouse. At least, I am, considering Mother would probably disown me if I drop out of school to get married. Or if I drop out of school because my (nonexistent) boyfriend's taking up all my time. Pshh, what's the use? Boys wouldn't like me anyway. I'm sloppy, underdressed, clumsy, positively grubby, and chubby (or too skinny to be healthy, depending on what kind of mood Mother is in). And I know looks aren't everything, but I'm also immature, gullible, naïve, and a total ditz. And boring. I mean, guys would probably talk to girls about movies they've seen, or hobbies they have in common, right? What kind of guy would be interested in a girl who doesn't read anything but SAT prep books? A 2400 on the reasoning test, along with 800s on all my subject tests may look impressive to colleges, but boys aren't colleges.

Yep, I'm going to be rocking the spinster lifestyle for a long time…

Dr. Catmull is done with his speech now. The woman who approaches the podium is wearing a gold robe and introduces herself as Dr. Kathleen Kennedy, dean of the Lucasfilm School of Engineering. She gives a quick speech that I don't bother to pay attention to, since by now, all these speeches are starting to sound the same, and then the band plays some kind of Epcot march, and the board members leave the stage.

And then convocation's over, and we're ushered out of the auditorium.

* * *

I can't tell if Mother's in a good or bad mood tonight. She listens as I describe my day, with the occasional "that's sounds nice" or "uh-huh." When I'm done, there's silence on the other end.

Finally, Mother sighs. "Rapunzel, it's eleven p.m., and Mother's feeling a little run-down."

So I remind her to drink her chrysanthemum tea again, and we exchange our customary "I love yous." I'm about to hang up when I suddenly remember something. "Um, Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh…so…I was wondering if you had some…fashion advice for me…"

"Rapunzel, this isn't about some boy, is it?"

"No, I just—"

"Because you know how men are, sweetheart. Vicious dogs that will rip you to shreds the moment you give them a chance!"

"I know, Mother. It's just, I've been wearing jeans with a T-shirt and sneakers, but I thought it was a little too kiddy, so I was thinking about wearing leggings with a tank top tomorrow—"

"What colors?"

"Um…brown and black?"

"_Rapunzel_!" Uh-oh. I hold the phone away from my ear, just as the shrieking starts. Okay, so how was I to know? I've always worn pastel dresses around the house, and jeans and a T-shirt when I volunteer at the nursing home or at the lab. Sheesh, Mother, I just wanted to fit in at college.

The screeching seems to have died down a bit, so I tentatively bring my phone back to my ear. Mother's sighing. "Honestly, Rapunzel! How are you going to become a doctor if you're this incompetent? Just go with jeans and the tank top. Blue jeans go with just about everything. Better yet, wear a dress. I paid for them all, you know."

_Click._ She hangs up on me.

I just can't do anything right anymore, can I?

* * *

**Lengthy end note:** In case you were wondering, yes, the girl who yelled, "Why is everybody suddenly talking about marriage?" was Merida, for obvious reasons. I had to put it in here because 1) Merida's officially a Disney Princess, and 2) this actually happened during my class's convocation, and it was a girl with curly red hair, too!

And I know we've been seeing a lot of other Disney characters, and Mulan's army friends had quite a lengthy cameo, but these ARE just cameos, and this IS a _Tangled_ fic, not a crossover. (It'll be clearer in later chapters.)

Also, I know the geography is kind of confusing because Epcot is in Florida, and Corona was probably in Germany, and Atlantica was…somewhere not on land… I'll throw out names of real-life places here and there, but for the purposes of this story, let's just pretend in this AU the United States and all other modern-day nations don't exist. Heck, just forget we're on Earth—yeah, pretend we're on some kind of Earth-like planet in a different galaxy, where there just happen to be places called Hawaii, Flushing, New Orleans, China, and Saudi, and where North America and Europe and Asia and all the other continents don't exist. Or they exist, but they're not located where they are on Earth, and they're not shaped the way we think. (Just go with it!)

Oh, and Epcot City is six hours from Corona Woods, so Epcot and Corona (the countries) are probably on the same continent. But there are little countries everywhere, so it's kind of pointless lugging your passport around or getting a green card, so they're kind of like the U.S. in that respect, only without an all-encompassing federal government (think: Schengen Area of the EU). Yeah, I'm American. When I'm driving, the only thing that happens when I cross state lines is that I see a sign on the side of the highway that reads "WELCOME TO [state name]! / [insert state motto/nickname]."

Oh, and thanks so much for the feedback from Chapter 1. I realize that it's been forever since I updated, and I hate to disappear on you all again because school's going to be starting soon, so I'll try to get Chapter 3 out as soon as possible. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** Here you go, folks. Thanks for being patient with my irregular updates. I promise that if I'm going to make you guys wait, the chapter will be longer to compensate for the wait time. Oh, and this chapter is rated T for innuendo and swearing. Much shorter this time around because anything longer would have dropped even more drastically in quality. Deleted and redone twice, still not entirely in love with it, but I'll come back and make minor edits later.

**Disclaimer: **I still own none of these characters.

**Trigger warning:** domestic abuse

* * *

**~Chapter 3~**

_Ten years prior…_

"_Flower! I'm ho-ome!" The front door slammed loudly enough to rattle the little cottage._

_Silence._

"_I _said_, I'm _ho-ome!_"_

_Shuffling footsteps. A thin girl with waist-length blonde hair peeked out from a doorway. "…Welcome home, Mother. Did you have a good time in town today?" Her big green eyes remained fixed to the floor._

"_Rapunzel, please. Stop with the mumbling. And stop slouching like that. It's very annoying!" The tall, black-haired woman set her shopping bags down on the kitchen counter and started removing parsnips and setting them on the cutting board._

"_I'm sorry, Mother."_

"_Now. Be a good girl and set the table and brew some chrysanthemum tea. Mummy's going to make hazelnut soup for dinner! Surprise!"_

_The little girl dutifully ran to her mother for a hug._

_She remained silent throughout dinner, but her mother was having none of that._

"_You're very quiet, Flower. Did something happen while I was out?"_

"_No, Mother."_

"_Do you feel okay?" A hand reached out to feel the girl's forehead, and she visibly cringed._

"_Yes, Mother."_

"_Have you finished your homework?"_

"_Yes, Mother."_

"_You've barely touched your soup, Rapunzel. What's the matter?"_

_When the girl did not meet her eyes, the woman's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Show me your math homework, Rapunzel. Mother has nothing else to do tonight. I'll grade them right now."_

_The girl flinched again but remained trembling in her seat._

"_Well, Rapunzel? I'm waiting. What's the matter with you tonight?"_

"_M-mother," she whimpered, "the homework was really hard, so I'm not sure if I did it right—"_

"_Are you," her mother interrupted, "or are you not going to show me your homework?"_

_Surrendering, the girl disappeared into her bedroom and returned with the stack of papers._

"_Sit here," her mother ordered, patting the seat cushion next to her on the sofa. "And start reading the next chapter of _A History of Corona_ while I grade."_

_Scarcely five minutes into her textbook, the girl was jolted from her reading by the back of a hand across her cheek._

"_You stupid, stupid child!" The woman's eyes blazed with fury, and the girl cowered into the cushions. "We've been over this lesson three times now! X equals negative B plus or minus the square root of B-squared minus four-AC, all over two-A! You have to rearrange the polynomial so that the terms are ordered by the exponent on X! How else are you going to figure out what A, B, and C are? And what is this rubbish here? The quantity of eight-plus-x, squared?"_

"_I—I meant to write a sixteen there—"_

"_Then write what you mean!" The stack of papers scattered to the floor. "And do this all over again! When I get back from work tomorrow afternoon, it had better all be perfect!"_

_The girl mumbled something._

"_What? I told you to speak up!"_

"_I'm sorry, Mother."_

"_Sorry? _Sorry?!_ Do you think a 'sorry' is going to help you master this material? I work from eight a.m. to four p.m. every single day, and then I have to teach you until ten! _I _actually make an effort to give you everything you need! I made hazelnut soup for you for _three dinners_ in a row, and what do you do? Deliberately ignore everything I teach you! What did I do to deserve this?"_

_The girl didn't even bother holding back her tears now._

"_Are you even listening to me right now?" Another slap. "You're already eight years old, Rapunzel! Kids your age are already learning trigonometry and pre-calculus in public school! If you keep lagging at this rate, you're not even going to get into Corona Woods Community College! You'll be worthless, _just like your father!"

* * *

It's the weekend before classes start—our last chance to relax and have fun before the semester drowns us in homework and papers and midterm stress.

Mulan and Ariel have been out until the early hours of morning every night since we arrived on campus. Mulan's been hanging out with our floormates in the common area, while I have a strong suspicion that Ariel's been partying at frat houses. (She invited us out with her once, but Mulan wanted to explore downtown Epcot City, and I wanted to sleep, although she assured us the invitation remains open.)

It's on my fourth day on campus when I realize that I haven't actually done anything in my free time besides read ahead to prepare for my first day of lecture. And it's eerily quiet. I think I might have scared Ariel and Mulan away with my nerdery…

I can't even hear my neighbors next door. Usually, I can overhear one of them on Skype with someone back home, though I try not to eavesdrop. The walls are just really, really thin. A blush creeps across my face as I recall an incident the other night.

I had been exhausted and had fallen asleep the minute my head touched my pillow, even though it really wasn't that late at night. I was having a nightmare about an earthquake hitting Corona Woods and trapping me under the kitchen table as our cottage started falling apart around me. Mother was screaming at me to get out and join her under the doorframe because I was too close to the windows, but I was too terrified of the chunks of ceiling raining down. All of a sudden, the table that was sheltering me from the debris started squeaking, as if its legs were going to give way from all the swaying, and it was going to crush me. Someone screamed—I couldn't tell if it was Mother's scream or mine because the ceiling had caved in entirely, and there was this big cloud of dust…and then I realized that the table was still squeaking…and that it was too rhythmic to be an earthquake.

Yeah…you can see where this is going. I woke up and found that the squeaking was coming from the room next door. My head was still foggy from sleep, so my initial thought was, _WDU has either the squeakiest mattresses or the thinnest walls in the world_. But then the squeaking was accompanied by gasps and incoherent exclamations, and it finally dawned on me what was going on.

(Because, yeah, believe it or not, I do in fact know what sex is. I'm a premed, after all. Most kids find out about "the birds and the bees" sometime in their teens, I'd imagine, when all those, ah, changes are going on. But my mother started teaching me biology when I was seven, just to prepare me for the teen years and so we could move on to less awkward topics in science, like genetics and biochemistry.)

Anyway...

_Sleep, sleep, sleep_, I had screamed at myself. The noises were getting louder and louder, so I rolled over and shoved a pillow over my head. But I could practically _feel_ the vibrations in the wall as my neighbors on the other side engaged in their…nocturnal activities, the obnoxious squeaking occasionally punctuated by…um…colorful vocabulary.

Finally, I had had enough. I rolled back over and repeatedly banged my fist against the wall, loudly. The squeaking stopped abruptly.

"_Holy shit!"_ I heard. (The panicked kind of cursing, not the ecstatic, thankfully. I think I'm going to be scarred for life.)

And then there was dead silence. Maybe they went to a different room to awaken and terrorize another innocent kid—I didn't really care. It was probably an ungodly hour of the night, and I just went back to sleep, after resolving to never, _ever_ read the name tags on the suite next door. Because how awkward would it be if it were someone I know? Or even worse, if I had to introduce myself as the "girl next door," with the subtext, "You know, the one you traumatized that one night?"

Anyway, right now the silence in the dorm is just starting to unsettle me when the suite door bangs open, and Mulan barges in. "Rapunzel! We're watching a movie in the common area in five minutes!" she bellows.

A movie? That doesn't sound so bad right now. I'm bored out of my mind, and my floormates and I will probably be too busy staring at the TV for me to embarrass myself…

* * *

Remind me to never again watch _Bridesmaids_.

Like, I get that it's rated R, and I'm technically old enough to watch it…but when the opening scene is basically a replay of what I happened to overhear from my next-door neighbor the other night…

Yeah, I may know what sex is and how it works, but I definitely didn't need to hear it actually happening, let alone _unfolding on the screen_. And the part with the food poisoning? I definitely wasn't expecting to see _that_. (Hey, cut me some slack! The only movies I grew up watching were documentaries about ancient history, or the life of Albert Einstein, or tutorials on how ion channels work. The least you could've done was warn me that moviemakers are legally allowed to put stuff like that on the screens.)

The raunchiness wasn't the worst part for me, though. I found a majority of the movie to be insanely depressing. Poor Annie gets dumped by her boyfriend, and her business goes under, and she has to move back in with her mom because she's broke, and she messes up with her love interest, and her best friend is replacing her with someone whose life seems perfect, and said someone is actively trying to sabotage her efforts to make her best friend happy…

It's just so _sad_.

I'd even zoned out a few times during the movie. How could I not, when my own future is uncertain—what if I'm not good enough for medical school? What if I can't find a job after graduation? What if I flunk out of college? What if we can't pay for my education? What if I fall out with Mother, and she stops paying for my education? What if I'm just too much of a freak, and no one wants to be friends with me?

_Oh, Rapunzel, deep breaths._ I can't afford to have a panic attack in front of my entire floor.

Speaking of whom, everyone is getting up now and stretching. One girl, who introduced herself as Wendy, suggests that we all go to lunch now, seeing as it's almost 1 in the afternoon. Her roommate—I think her name is Lily—agrees, and the rest of us follow them into the elevators.

* * *

Wow, social networking sites sure work fast.

After dinner, Mulan had barely finished helping me set up my very own Facebook account when I got bombarded by friend requests from Ariel, Snow, Rose, Belle, and a few other people from our floor.

"Who's Aladdin Cassin?" I ask Mulan, frowning as another notification pops up. "He's friend-requesting me, and he invited me to join a group…the 'Valley Tower West Wing Sixth Floor'?"

"Oh, you mean our neighbor next door? The guy from Saudi?"

Oh yeah! The guy who held that umbrella for me when we were on our way to Convocation in that freak storm. Gosh, I'm such a dummy with names…

Wait. Next door?

_Don't think about it, Rapunzel. It could have been his roommate, or his suitemate, or—heck, maybe he was out, and some desperately horny couple that doesn't even live there took advantage of the empty bedroom. Aladdin is a really nice guy who let you borrow his umbrella. Even if he _was_ the one who did…It, it doesn't mean he's a scumbag with no morals._

I take a deep breath and accept Aladdin's friend request.

Good. The earth didn't shatter. Moving on now…

It's quite convenient that Aladdin invited me to join the dorm group because I find that just about everyone else on our floor has been added to the group as well. I recognize some first names and profile pictures of kids I've seen around on the floor: Belle O'Hara, Jessica Rabbit, Kida Nedakh, Wendy Darling, Felton Jumbo, Jr., Lily Tiger, Anastasia Tremaine… Oh, and the RAs, Tiana Noni and Maximus Welker.

(Call me weird, but I always feel a lot more comfortable around people once I know their last names. I guess it's because only knowing someone's first name is barely a step up from being total strangers.)

"I now have…thirty Facebook friends!" I exclaim gleefully. I know that most of these people are casual acquaintances I've spoken to once and have seen around the dorm a handful of times, but—hey—what's the harm of having a close-knit floor? Everyone is so _nice_ here, even though I'm so awkward and shy.

"Great," Mulan replies dryly. "Seeing as there are about sixty people on our wing of the floor, you have about another thirty to go."

"Well…there's probably a bunch of people in the common area right now. I'll just go out there and meet some new people!"

Mulan rolls her eyes (but I can tell she means it affectionately) as I grab my keys and made a dash for the door. "Good luck! I might join you guys later."

In the common area, there are a few guys watching football on TV (and hogging the couches) and a small crowd of girls sitting in a circle on the floor. They smile at me as I approach and invite me to join them for some icebreakers. To my relief, I notice that my suitemate Ariel is among them, so I accept, and they scoot a little to give me room.

* * *

"…So…the green card says…'Smart.' And the contestants are…'Einstein,' too literal. 'Ghost towns.' Wait, what? Nope. 'A mermaid,' nope. 'My boss,' no, he was a jerk. 'Driving off a cliff,' love the irony. 'A high school bathroom,' huh? 'Ear wax'—you know what? These stink. I'm going with 'driving off a cliff.'"

We're playing Apples to Apples now, having abandoned Never Have I Ever, Two Truths and a Lie, and Year of the Coin hours ago. I'm a bit shocked at how quickly time has flown—it's nearly ten p.m.

"Welp." Jessica—a redhead who looks like she could be smuggling soccer balls under her shirt—gathers up the cards and packs them back into the box. "Anyone want to go out tonight?"

"I'm in!" Ariel rummages through her purse for her keys. "Just give me a second to get changed."

As my suitemate and a few other girls scurry off, Jessica turns to me. "Rapunzel, you want to join us?"

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, probably to Phi Kap, or SigRho, or maybe even Beta Chi. I hear Beta's really lax with checking people's cards, even if the guys are a little hornier…"

"Oh my god!" some other girl shrieks. "Remember that Louis guy who wouldn't leave us alone until Ralph got him drunk and locked him in the bathroom?"

"He did _what_? Damn, I must have been totally wasted that night!"

"But you were sober when you were leaving with Flynn! Seriously, you should have seen Louis! He was drawing on his own face with Sharpie, and singing French ballads at the top of his lungs at one point!"

At this moment, a group of guys from our floor shows up from down the hall, making plans with the girls to go check out frat parties with them. They seem to be talking very animatedly. One of them—a hefty-looking guy with big ears—is even trying to give a hug to everyone in the common area. Hm…from my lessons with Mother, I recall that alcohol is classified as a depressant…but it initially acts as a stimulant, which is probably why so many people drink for social purposes… Don't look at me like that. I know I'm weird and completely hopeless in social situations and will probably have better luck trying to be friends with a pile of cardboard boxes, but alcohol's not—

"Hey, Jumbo!" One of the girls calls out to the guy who's still giving hugs to everyone gathered in front of the elevators. "I'm feeling like getting buzzed before heading out tonight. You got any more vodka stashed?"

Um, _what_?

"For goodness sakes, Lottie!" Mulan exclaims. "Keep it down—one of the RAs might hear you!"

"Jumbo" seems a little too drunk, though, because he immediately pulls a small, flat bottle of something out of his jeans pocket and tosses it to "Lottie." She then unscrews the cap and starts to take a swig—

"_No_!" I hear myself shouting at her. The common area and hallway goes silent, and I realize everyone's staring at me, the bottle of vodka still halfway to Lottie's mouth.

What? Did I do something wrong? These kids were about to drink _alcohol_ out in the wide open common area. Never mind the fact that they're openly flouting the school rules _and _the freaking Epcot _law_. Alcohol is terrible for your body; it's literally _poison_. Well, okay, technically, the stuff your body converts it into is poison. But the fact remains that it destroys brain cells and can cause cancer, and alcoholism is both physically and mentally harmful. I would know—when I was a baby, my father would often come home in a drunken rage late at night after wasting all the money Mother earned (he didn't have a job of his own) and then physically abuse Mother and threaten our safety. Mother eventually took me and ran away from him, and we'd been living in the forest at the edge of Corona, as far from him as possible for the sake of my safety, ever since—

"_Rapunzel_." Mulan interrupts my thoughts sharply. "We understand your concern, but just because your dad had a drinking problem, it doesn't mean…"

How does Mulan know about my—? Oh. I was thinking out loud, wasn't I? I have to sit on my hands to keep myself from burying my now burning, likely tomato-red face in them.

"You're not listening anymore, are you?"

Suddenly, I feel Mulan's hands on my arm, pulling me into a standing position. The next thing I know, Mulan's hustling me down the hall to our room, passing a bewildered Ariel, while our floormates gape after us. I catch a few murmurs of "uptight" and "stiff" and "self-righteous."

Mulan sits back in her desk chair and sighs.

I sit on the bottom rung of my ladder and hug my knees to my chest. "I really messed up, didn't I?" I sound like a child who got caught smuggling cookies to her room.

"Eh…only a lot." Mulan sighs again, but she sounds sympathetic, not judgmental. "See, I kind of saw where you were coming from, being premed and all. And I don't drink or anything, but let's just say I think it would be for the best if you live and let live."

I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand.

"Just hear me out. Telling people that alcohol is bad for your health—it's kind of like telling them that…water is wet, or something. They already know that, but they made a decision to do it anyway. And it's _their_ decision, even if you disagree with it. I know you mean well, but when you get on your soapbox like that, it just comes off as preachy and holier-than-thou, and then people will be even less willing to listen to you."

"…Mulan?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you be my personal real-world guru?"

* * *

"You made a _what_?"

Oh boy. Mother doesn't sound happy at all. What else is new?

"You mean to say, Rapunzel, you made me stay up until eleven at night waiting for your phone call, and when you finally call in, you tell me you've decided to join that—that abomination of a website? The one on which high school students are bullied so relentlessly that they commit suicide? The one where people's posts are a slap in the face of the English language? The one where employers look up prospective employees and decide not to hire them because their photos are all of drunken orgies?"

Okay, not going to lie, I was kind of hoping Mother would be happy that I'm making an effort to put myself out there and meet new people. (Not that it matters anymore because, after my outburst earlier tonight, I doubt anyone will be caught dead being my Facebook friend.) But when she puts it that way…yeah, it kind of makes me feel like a terrible person. Well, even _more_ terrible a person than before.

"I'm sorry, Mother. It's just that there are so many people here, and there's a Facebook page where Walt Disney University puts up daily announcements about opportunities and stuff, and I just didn't want to be a dorm hermit who doesn't even know who her neighbors are…"

(I decide not to tell her about my rant about alcohol earlier, seeing as I accidentally spilled the beans about our family's personal history and troubles to a bunch of people whom I barely know and who probably hate me.)

Mother sighs heavily. "Look, Rapunzel. I suppose it's my fault, since I didn't explicitly tell you not to get tangled up in social networking timesucks, though I thought you would have been smarter than that… But I don't have time for your—your teenage rebelliousness. I'm calling about your next step toward med school."

Oh, right. _Forget about friends, focus on med school._ I'd forgotten about our mantra again. What kind of daughter am I?

Mother continues, "You're going to need to get a job. Not necessarily in research—there will be plenty of time later to contact some professors and ask to work in their labs. Just ask around—find some upperclassmen or something—and ask them which places are hiring. You need to beef up your résumé. I'll email you the links to some employment forms. You print and fill them out and call me tomorrow night…"

* * *

It's nearly midnight by the time Mother's finished with me. Mulan has an 8 o-clock class tomorrow morning, so she's already asleep, and I'm huddled in front of my laptop with my pillow serving as a makeshift lampshade.

I need to get a job. That much is clear. I've been in Epcot for four days now, and all I've been doing is studying ahead and being a social pariah. And I'm not taking all that many classes this semester, since Mother insisted that it's better to get straight _A_s than to overload on credits but have a 2.6 GPA. I'm clearly going to need something to do with my free time.

I remember Tiana, the RA for the east wing of our floor, mentioning that she knows of a baking club on campus. Well, I love to bake, and I love art. I could decorate cakes or something. Maybe Tiana will know about some bakeries near campus that are hiring…

Tiana had accepted my Facebook friend request from earlier tonight, so I send her a quick message.

She replies almost instantly, despite the hour.

"Hi, Rapunzel. Hope you're settling in and ready for classes tomorrow. You're in luck because I actually work at a bakery just across the street from our dorm. I can put in a word for you with my boss, if you want."

I thank Tiana and power off my computer.

At least one thing in my life is going right so far.

* * *

**Important Note/Disclaimer:** Apologies if Mulan's don't-ask-don't-tell stance on underage drinking offended anyone. I personally have never had a sip of alcohol in my life, and I don't plan to anytime soon because I feel 1) it's not worth the risk of getting caught, and 2) I don't need to be inebriated to have fun. I would get on the same soapbox as Rapunzel did in this chapter, but I've found that most college students I've encountered at my school (we're a big research university) do drink under the age of 21 and are generally pretty responsible about it. Generally, the attitude about drinking in college is sort of a live-and-let-live, don't drink if you personally don't feel it's right, but don't shove your position down other people's throats. Even the RAs told us, "If you absolutely _must_ drink, exercise some common sense and have a friend to look out for you. And make sure we never catch you drinking or find bottles in your room, because as much as we don't want to get you guys in trouble, we're required to report you." (But if people have had WAY too many drinks or were planning to get in a vehicle while any of them is intoxicated, that would be an entirely different story, and I'd probably personally escort them to Health & Wellness.)

And now that _that's_ over with, thanks so much for all the reviews last chapter. A number of you are probably waiting impatiently for the FlynnxRapunzel romance, but please bear with me. There will be _plenty_ of time for our favorite couple, but first I want to build up the friendship and angst aspect of the story because it's kind of important in later chapters, once Flynn _is_ in the picture. I know a lot of the college AUs here have the two getting together relatively quickly, but keep in mind that Rapunzel's only been at WDU for four days, and classes haven't even started yet. We will start to see more and more of Flynn starting next chapter, though. I hope socially-awkward Rapunzel isn't getting on your nerves—I may have gone overboard a bit with portraying the negative and alienating effects of Gothel's parenting. The way Movie-Rapunzel adapted so quickly to different environments and befriended everyone…it made her adorable and really charismatic, but I always found it just a tad unrealistic.


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